


Staccato

by theghostinthewords



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP, just gratuitous sex tbh, the deadline was a month ago but here is some porn to make up for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theghostinthewords/pseuds/theghostinthewords
Summary: Jaskier tries to play a concert. Geralt has other plans.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24
Collections: Geraskier Exchange





	Staccato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanura/gifts).



> I am deeply embarrassed at how late this is. Rionsanura, I am so fucking sorry at how awful I am with deadlines. Please enjoy the smut and forgive me <3

It had started out innocently enough.

A few months prior, the keeper at the inn they were trying to stay for the night had refused. “You,” he had grunted, jabbing a blunt finger at Jaskier, “can stay. The witcher will have to lodge elsewhere.” Geralt had merely glared at the man, and hefted his bags onto Dandelion, who staggered, winced, and with as little sarcasm as he could manage, thanked the keeper. By the time he had recovered his balance, the witcher was gone. Jaskier did not like the prospect of staying in the room while his friend was elsewhere, but the autumn nights were drawing in, and he was starting to wake up lightly dusted in frost. Geralt radiated almost a supernatural warmth, although whether that was part of his being a witcher or something particular to the man, Jaskier couldn’t rightly say.

When he got to the room, he thanked the maid for the fire and water, and began to undress quickly. He would play for his dinner - of course he would, it was expected of him - not just for his reputation, but to keep his practice. Before that, however, he wanted to be clean, and warm, and to stretch his shoulders. He slipped into the water. _Ah-_ bliss. 

He had barely begun to relax, however, when something tapped at his window. Startled, he sat straight up, half-convinced he had imagined it- another tap. Then a third. Someone was throwing rocks at his window. Scrambling for his clothes, he peered out of the window into the early evening darkness.

“Jaskier.” A low rumble below him.

“Geralt?”

“Are you going to give me a hand up or what?”

“Am I-” The bard sputtered, “When were you going to warn me this was the plan? I was in the bath, Geralt!”

“Hmm. Hot water.”

Jaskier leaned a hand down to reach for what he assumed was a climbing witcher, and tried not to strain too hard as he momentarily became an anchor point for the man, cursing mentally at the way he’d managed to make climbing through a window look graceful.

Geralt, in turn, quickly stripped himself of his armour and splashed the bathwater over his face.

“Are you getting back in?” Dandelion swore he’d misheard. 

“What?” 

“To the bath.” Jaskier must have looked surprised. “You were in the bath. The water is still hot.”

“Oh, I… yes. Yes, I think I will.”

And that was the end of the discussion. He stripped once more, and bathed, trying to ignore the company. It wasn’t that he was unused to company, or unused to company whilst being naked, but- he wasn’t often naked and vulnerable in front of anyone. Physically, he was aware that he was much weaker than Geralt, but this kind of exposure felt different. New. He was… comfortable, almost.

When he was done with the water Geralt took his turn. He didn’t bathe as luxuriously as the bard did, but he did scrub himself clean, and washed and tied back his hair. Then he laid back on the bed, looking almost expectantly at Jaskier.

Jaskier stared blankly back, his throat suddenly dry.

“Are you playing?”

_Playing?_

“For your dinner, Jaskier.”

_Right. That. Yes, yes he was._ Fumbling with his lute, he hurried downstairs and managed to put on a swagger as he entered the dining room. He knew the songs by muscle memory alone, a fact for which he was grateful; his thoughts weren’t in the room at all, but rather with the wolfish man hiding upstairs, waiting for him. 

\-----

After that night, the arrangement quickly became routine. Autumn turned to winter, and Jaskier would hide Geralt in rooms in whatever lodgings they managed to acquire. There was only ever one bed; their beginning to share was an unspoken agreement between the two of them. Geralt ran hot, and Jaskier ran cold. It made sense to share the warmth, rather than lie there, one sweating and one shivering. If the locals were not accommodating of the witcher, they would simply force the accommodation in secret. Jaskier never really considered it anything more than convenience, until the night Geralt first joked that Jaskier must be used to their arrangement being the other way around. “You know, with all your Lords’ Ladies.” He had commented by way of an explanation. Jaskier put on his best hurt puppy look and mock-gasped.

“I would never!” He faked offence for a moment, and then grinned. “It would ruin my hands and tear my clothes, Geralt. I simply couldn’t risk it.”

Geralt’s look was inscrutable - not that that was a surprise. What came out of his mouth next was, though.

“Would you prefer someone to sneak in to _you_ , Dandelion?”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, and he tried not to meet the witcher’s eyes. It didn’t help. He could feel the golden gaze boring into him. Suddenly the room felt too small, and Geralt too close to him- on him.

“I-” Jaskier stuttered, staccato. “I have to play.”

“Of course.” Just like that, the atmosphere was banished. Dandelion breathed deeply, and turned on his heel, ready to perform in an instant.

He played well, of course. He always did, even though his thoughts were preoccupied by the witcher upstairs. But that was nothing new, at this point. Whenever he left to sing for his supper he was struck by a feeling - an awareness of sorts, of- what? It was hardly an illicit affair.

They were only sleeping. 

\-----

Then, there was this latest development. Around three hours prior to the predicament Dandelion found himself in, they had arrived at yet another tavern, Geralt glowering awkwardly at the landlady, already anticipating the hostility as the bard tried to negotiate rooms for them both for the night. To both of their surprise, the barkeep was more than willing to bed them for the night; it had been some time since a bard of any quality had passed through the town, and Jaskier’s reputation as a singer had preceded his reputation as an unfortunate flirt, for once (although Geralt had muttered something about there being no accounting for taste under his breath, which Dandelion solidly ignored.) It was only the middle of the afternoon, but she was even willing for them to go up and get settled early. “A well-rested bard will play better,” she had commented. Then she crossed herself, “And a well-rested witcher will hunt better, too. Gods know we need it.”

The two of them were freshly bathed and dressed with plenty of time before the evening’s performance and monster hunt hunting. They were not used to leisure time; they mostly walked, and hunted, and played, and slept, and walked some more, ad infinitum. After a few minutes’ awkward silence, Geralt pulled out a deck of cards. “Gwent?”

“Sure.” Dandelion wasn’t the best player, but it could pass the afternoon well enough. He won the first few hands easily. Confident, he put forwards a bet. “If I win the next hand, I get first bath in the next place we stay.”

“Alright.” Geralt offered up the hint of a smile, tilting his head slightly. “And what if I win?”

“I won’t annoy you in the middle of the night by singing for a week.”

“Deal.”

Geralt won that hand, but only just.

They kept playing, and betting - just for little things. The side of the bed next to the fire, a pint at the bar. And then-

The bet that brought Jaskier to his current predicament.

“I thought you loved illicit affairs, Julian.”

“You know my name?”

“I’ve seen your letters.”

“Ah.”

“You’re changing the topic.”

“I am.”

“So you don’t want it?”

_Oh, he wanted it. But he sure as whatever hell awaited him wasn’t going to admit it._

“Do you want it?”

“It’s my prize, isn’t it?”

Jaskier didn’t want to admit he was in what some may call a dry spot, and it had very little to do with a lack of options and a lot to do with the fact that waking next to Geralt was preferable to falling asleep anywhere else. He also didn’t want to admit that he felt the chaos humming between them every time they stopped somewhere and Jaskier had to let him in, had to share the bath, share the bed. They had become almost intimate in their travelling together, and the bard was reluctant to further admit his fear of asking that the ‘almost’ be removed from the statement, lest the whole thing might vanish.

“If you win… you can have it.”

Naturally, Jaskier lost, although whether it was intentional or not he himself wasn’t sure. As it turned out, he knew exactly how to drive Jaskier to distraction.

The thoughts racing through his head stuttered as his heart and hips gave an involuntary jerk. Jaskier cursed, mentally, glad that his fingers could at least keep playing by muscle memory alone, although he was too tightly wound at present to attempt singing along to it. The hand was only on his bloody thigh, for crying out loud! He felt Geralt’s other hand brace his hip in place, and a murmur in his ear. “Is this okay?”

He nodded. Nobody was watching him- them. They were background music to the drinking. 

_Praise be to whatever deity was listening that his audience were too busy providing their own drunken lyrics to his tune. Even if-_ his mind went blank for a second as the asshole witcher moved his hand _-even if their words were no match for his usual standards._ He was sure everyone could tell his face wasn’t flushed red from the performance alone. Geralt’s hand crawled up the outside of his thigh and settled for a moment, holding the bard still for long enough to feel. _Oh._ He wasn’t the only one being teased, here.

Jaskier gritted his teeth. Only one more song to make it through, and they could disappear to their rooms. He paused for a moment, breathing deeply, and began the opening of _Toss A Coin._ Geralt was kind enough to merely hold him steady through the first verse, but the instant the chorus began to ripple through the crowd the witcher began to fidget again, palming the front of his trousers, knocking against the lute a little as he did so.

“Like this?” The low rumble appeared at his ear again. He didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare risk making eye contact. If he did, he’d probably stop caring that he was mid-crowd and mid-song and- Geralt gently squeezed around the head of his cock.

“Yes.” _Please, Melitile, yes._ His hips bucked and he missed a note, then missed several more. He managed to keep it together for one more chorus, but he didn’t dare get up to bow at the end; if he did, Geralt wouldn’t be touching him and if Geralt stopped touching him for even a second he thought he might die.

Instead, he let the music fade out naturally. The drinkers and already-drunks of the tavern kept singing, in places, but they didn’t hear it. As soon as he whispered to Geralt that he was done performing, the witcher had stood them both up, placing Jaskier’s feet on the ground and leading him back to their rooms.


End file.
